Barrington Bayley - Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus - The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

Before entering he waved the guard away, waiting until the man was out of both sight and earshot. Then he swung open the door.

Squatting on the floor beside the far wall, Craish lifted his seamed face to stare impassively. The robot moved into the cell and loomed menacingly over his prisoner, his bulk eclipsing the weak electric light and throwing the cell in shadow.

‘What the hell do you want?’ Craish said defiantly.

The door swung shut with a clang. Craish looked alarmed but belligerent. ‘What’s this? Are you Zhorm’s executioner now?’

‘If I choose…’ Jasperodus’ voice reverberated quietly in the confined space. He took one step and wrenched Craish to his feet by the front of his jerkin, bringing his face close to his own. The bandit looked frightened and trapped, so close to Jasperodus’ bizarre visage.

‘Listen to me, you fool… you can live if you do what I say. There is a price to be paid, a small price indeed when measured against the loss of your life, effectuated by the garotte and accompanied by the howls of a vengeful mob – but it must be paid, without any omission. You must become my secret slave, together with others whom I will select. Your life will belong to me, your existence will depend upon my will. No one else will know of this; you alone will know that I am your lord and master and that my command is law.’

Despite his situation Craish managed a croaking laugh. ‘Metal man, you’re crazy! Be a slave to a machine? It’s the other way round in my world.’

‘Then die !’ Contemptuously Jasperodus flung him down against the wall. ‘I will explain the circumstances, since whichever way matters fall out your silence is guaranteed. Small though it appears, this court that rules Gordona is a cesspool of intrigue. King Zhorm has a half-brother, born to the old king’s first wife. Being older than Zhorm this brother thinks himself cheated of the throne, although by right of primogeniture the throne is indeed Zhorm’s – a fine legal distinction, you may say, which varies from kingdom to kingdom. At any rate, this dolt dreams of an armed coup . It is all folly, for Zhorm is by far the better king.’ Jasperodus laughed hollowly. ‘But what is that to me? I intend to take advantage of these treasons. Do you follow me? Already I am as good as commissioned in the Guard, and my advancement will not rest there. But it is difficult for a robot to acquire faithful human servitors, and that is why I am recruiting you now.’

Craish shook his head in bewilderment. ‘This king’s brother is your principal? You must take orders from somebody .’

‘I alone am the initiator of my deeds. You will not imagine anyone standing behind me, for in truth there is no one.’

Craish pondered and sighed. ‘I can almost believe it. You’re more of a man than most men are.’

‘For once you show discernment. So how do you answer? You can be enrolled in the Gordonian Guard, where I will be your officer – but secretly I will be much more. You will find me a generous master and you will live well. Otherwise…’ Jasperodus saw no need to explicate further.

Craish gave a crooked smile. ‘Need you ask? I’m in your hands. Anything you say.’

Jasperodus made a quick judgement and felt he could be sure of the man. He leaned down and took Craish’s skull in his hand like an egg.

‘Fail me and I will crush you – just so,’ he said, exerting a meaningful pressure. Craish looked up with frightened, hollow eyes, nodding meekly as soon as Jasperodus released his head.

Jasperodus left the cell with an exultant stride. A man had submitted to him , a robot, and it was a good, strong feeling. He savoured it for the rest of the night.

Prince Okhramora giggled. ‘Come in, Commander, come in!’ Entering the apartment, Jasperodus found the Prince sitting comfortably in a padded chair, his short legs splayed out from his tubby body, a grin of glee fixed to his round face.

Okhramora giggled again. ‘Any last-minute difficulties, Commander?’

‘Nothing of note, Highness. All is arranged to satisfaction. Operations will be led by Z Company, from whom we can expect absolute loyalty. The palace, being nearly empty, will be ours in minutes. We will then invest the town, and once Okrum is secure we will release the proclamation we have prepared. I have devised a ruse to separate from their arms those companies whose cooperation cannot be assumed, using the pretext of an armoury check. They will be locked in the barracks and placed under guard.’

‘Good, good.’ The Prince screwed up his eyes in a presumably calculating manner. ‘The announcement will appear simultaneously everywhere, and those who are with us are ready to take over all centres of population. It is well done.’

Jasperodus continued with the run-down. ‘Within the hour the King and his retinue are due to leave for the country palace, putting them thirty miles away from the capital. On that score my stratagem is working well: the entertainment I have procured from the East has enticed away all who could wheedle themselves on to the jaunt, as anticipated. It was well worth the expense.’

‘And as they leave, my uncle and cousins will be arriving as the start of the new court,’ Okhramora chuckled. ‘I wish I could see Zhorm’s face when he realises what’s happened!’

‘Success seems assured, Highness.’

‘Yes; we have planned well, you and I!’

There was a pause, Jasperodus continuing to stand rigidly before the Prince. Suddenly an idea seemed to strike Okhramora, and his face lit up with childish glee.

He picked up a writing scribe and threw it across the room.

‘Oh, look, Commander, I have dropped my scribe! Pick it up for me.’

Obediently Jasperodus crossed the room and retrieved the scribe from the floor. As he was about to return Okhramora’s shrill voice rang out again. ‘No, no! Bring it to me on your knees!’

Wordlessly Jasperodus trundled across the room on his knees to replace the scribe on the table. The Prince thrust out his hand warningly before he could rise.

‘Stay where you are, now,’ he said softly. ‘There appears to be a speck of dust upon my shoe. Be good enough to wipe it off with that cloth.’

‘At once, Highness.’ Taking the cloth Okhramora had designated, Jasperodus carefully polished both his buckled shoes of soft leather.

‘Excellent! Well, Commander, you can stand up now!’

In the past few months Jasperodus had been playing a deceitfully inverted role with the Prince. Like most people in Gordona, Okhramora did not readily conceive of a robot without automatic obedience, and at first had been puzzled to know why Jasperodus exhibited great independence with regard to other human beings and on the other hand showed slavish attachment to himself whenever the two of them were alone together. But eventually he explained it to himself thus: Jasperodus was like a dog, he wanted only one master.

And he, Prince Okhramora, was that master!

Why the robot’s devotion should have fallen upon him was largely inexplicable – perhaps, he flattered himself, it reflected on his manly firmness – but it was an amazing piece of good luck. In ordinary terms Jasperodus was a genius, a veritable Machiavelli, and that genius was entirely at Okhramora’s disposal. Furthermore, no one else suspected it.

Meanwhile Jasperodus had done well in the Guard, making him an even more attractive target for Okhramora’s attentions. Swiftly he had been promoted from Lieutenant to Captain to Major, and his military abilities were beyond dispute. He had been a hard disciplinarian to the newly-formed Z Company consisting mainly of Craish and his men, and with their help had all but cleared the West Forest of outlaws, many of whom had then been drawn into its ranks.